


Wild Things

by Not_You



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Charles is civilized, Erik is feral, F/F, F/M, Fauns & Satyrs, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Watersports, cockblocked by parental responsibility, general goatiness, only a whiff of femmeslash sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kinkmeme prompt for a modern day faun/satyr/nymph/what-have-you AU.  Erik and Charles meet on campus and make friends and somehow <i>don't</i> fuck for eight chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Erik doesn't know if he hates or loves the city. It's hard to tell, most days. He was born to iron, though, and cannot stay away. Other satyrs passing through know him for what he is, with his pale eyes and gunmetal grey coat. The more traditional even bow to him and give him something of whatever they have. If his village was still there, he would presumably be home, training to be the next shaman. As it is, he's here. He's incomplete, intrinsic magic wounded and tangled, and satyrs who see him and know him want to help. At least none have shown up today. He clops down the sidewalk with his usual defiance. Some city satyrs give up completely, and engage in self-mutilations ranging from filing down their sharp teeth all the way up to descenting, unthinkable to Erik. Almost all of them wear human clothes, but Erik refuses to budge. He hold his head high and wears nothing but a loincloth. Most humans just scuttle past him, and he's fine with that. He's a hulking presence at the bus stop, seven feet high and still as a stone. The humans there follow the urban code and ignore him completely, but there are children on the bus, and children always stare. At least until he bares his teeth at them, gleaming white and sharp as knives. He'd never hurt a kid, but that doesn't mean he likes the little bastards.

It's pretty ironic that he's headed for a huge mass of humans who might as well be children, despite being full grown. Erik has done all the engineering courses he can by correspondence, and now he has to face the music and actually attend the university. He doesn't hate it completely, but it's close some days. He sits in the back in every class, even though his clean goat scent is weaker and far less foul than that of some of his classmates. No one speaks to him, and he returns the favor. Listening to lectures and being left alone in the library or the lab is always pleasant, but they keep trying to make him work in groups even though everyone involved hates it. At least today is just lecture. Erik is almost in a good mood by the end of it, and bypasses the commons in favor of a nearby pizzeria that makes food which is actually worth eating. Unfortunately, everyone else in the city seems to share Erik's views and timing. The place is packed, and ordinarily he'd duck out, but his favorite of everything on the menu that sells by the slice is in the merchandiser, and he's obstinate by nature and too hungry to be turned back now.

Still, as soon as Erik has four slices of steak and onion he shoulders his way out, claustrophobic in the crush. He takes a deep, relieved breath as soon as he gets outside, and hears a soft and musical laugh in response. Looking over his heart nearly stops. Erik has very good self-control, but sitting at one of the disused outdoor tables is the most beautiful faun he has ever seen. Even in his silly human clothes, he is a work of art, with a perfect face and delicate horns. He's wearing a tweed suit, but has at least hemmed the legs up to the upper thigh, revealing beautiful fur, dark on the outside of his legs and golden on the inside. and Erik is walking over to join him before he knows it. "Don't let me intrude, but it's always good to see another of the Kindred."

The faun beams, and waves him to the empty seat. "The feeling is entirely mutual." Erik settles in, nodding in gratitude and devouring the first slice. Too much bread makes him feel bloated and sick, but it has a place in his diet. The faun smiles, nibbling on a slice of margarhita. "Hungry, are we?"

"Very much. Are you a student here?"

He laughs, blue eyes sparkling. "No, a very young instructor."

"I see." Erik does see, and admires the faun very much. Most Kindred in jobs like his are the most assimilationist and self-hating. This one may be wearing clothes, but his light musk is everything it should be, and his horns thrust up proudly at his hairline, not blunted or filed down. Moreover, his sharp little faun fangs show when he smiles.

"So what are you studying--?" He lets the pause hang, asking for a name.

"Erik Lensherr. Engineering."

"Ah, no wonder I haven't seen you about the place. Charles Xavier. Genetics."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles is invited out to the mountains.

All Raven can say is that at least it's fall. They have all the way until spring to be sure Erik is a kind and decent satyr before he inevitably carries one of them off. After all, they are a faun and a nymph, and neither of them unattractive. When she tells Charles this, he just laughs at her and keeps inviting Erik over to play chess. He does at least bring good wine and keep his hands to himself, so Raven doesn't object. Really, if her brother has to bring home a satyr, at least he's one of the good ones, still wild from a mountain. The city-bred satyrs are either pitiful or dangerous, as a general rule.

They spend the winter arguing about Kindred assimilation and loudly agreeing about what bullshit the last of Shaw's laws are. Erik drops a few hints that he may have been among the Blood Kindred, but even Charles has to admit that the world is a better place without Shaw, even if he prefers to actually charge war criminals and not put their heads on sticks to be borne whooping through the forests by a hard-bitten band of nymphs, satyrs, dryads and even a few of the reclusive rock gnomes. He and Erik argue about the niceties of chess and all kinds of takeout and finally, as Raven has been expecting, top quality bloody rare beef. Erik brings it in a reed basket already sliced and seasoned, and barely cooks it before serving. Charles always argues that fauns don't have the same caloric requirements as satyrs and can exist on far less protein, but he's practically drooling over the meat. Erik lets him have most of it, and that is just such a courting satyr thing that Raven wonders how in the hell her brother can be so dumb. At least Erik seems patient.

"Charles," he murmurs over a winter chess match, "I'll be going to the country for break. Would you like to join me for some of it?"

"Wwellll…. How far into the country?"

He chuckles, taking a knight. "Over the hills and far away, Charles. But I can promise that you will be kept warm, fed, and entertained. No one will carry you off against your wishes or subject you to masculinity tests."

"In that case, how can I refuse? Check."

"Crafty goatling. I'll need to know before New Year's, but that lets you think about it."

Charles does think about. All the bloody way through Christmas, until Raven tells him to just go, for the love of god. "Take the satellite phone, don't pass out at the parties, and have a good time."

Erik grins with all his sharp teeth to hear that Charles is coming. His village was destroyed by Shaw, but he and a few other satyrs have formed a loose herd of their own, with a shared cave network in the mountains. Azazel is another failed shaman, born to the void instead of to iron, and his mate is one of the lesser winds. There are others as well, and Charles will be introduced to them when he arrives. His options for travel of course are to fly to the nearest possible town and then hire a guide to transport him through to satyr country where Erik could meet him, or to voidstep with Azazel.

Ever the adventurer, Charles is packed and ready on Boxing Day. Erik has left him a small silver whistle, and he uses it now. The sound is sharp and cold and goes on for longer than it should. Raven winces and then stares as a satyr steps out of thin air. He's tall and lean and predatory like Erik, but his skin is darker, a rich, light brown. He has fascinating scars like Erik does, and wicked black horns that twist. The tip of one is broken off, but that only seems to have made it sharper. His black hair is slicked back under a chauffeur's cap modified to fit around the horns, and he grins at them.

"Ready, Charles?"

"That depends, would you like to get right back, or would you like to have a drink first?"

"Oh, a satyr always has time for a drink." He saunters to the kitchen table on black furred legs, and winks at Raven over the rim of his glass as they all sip the excellent old brandy Charles keeps for moments like this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the conversation immediately turns to sex.

The traditional satyr dwelling is a cave, and Erik holds to tradition. He and Azazel had found themselves directionless after Shaw's death, and had agreed to stick together. Janos had elected to blow along with them for at least a while, which was a great deal of commitment for a wind. Others have come and gone over time, but the three of them remain at the core, constantly expanding and renovating the caves. Erik is proud of them, and they're strong and well placed in the bones of the mountain. There's even a path to a subterranean hot spring and a little cavern of crystals. One of the smaller sleeping caves near his own will do nicely for Charles, and he checks the bedding and the warming glyph for the umpteenth time. It's a comfortable little cave, and hung with some of the best tapestry they have. Finally satisfied, he goes to the main cave that opens up on the snowy day and waits for Azazel.

"Nervous?" Janos purrs, gusting in with some snow and solidifying, hair wild from his flight.

"Perhaps." Janos hardly ever speaks, and that suits Erik as often as not. He warms mulled wine and they both sip it without speaking. And then Azazel steps out of nothing along with Charles, who beams at them. He's wearing his usual human clothes, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Hello, all! Ooh, is that mulled wine?"

"Lush," Erik chuckles, giving Charles a one-armed hug and then clopping over to pour him and Azazel each a cup.

"You don't know the half of it, Erik. We've already had brandy."

"Isn't that a bit hypocritical, Mr. 'a satyr always has time for a drink'?"

Erik laughs, and watches Charles's dainty little hands as he takes up the two-handled cup to take neat little sips of wine such a deep red it looks black in the lowering light. Charles purrs and complements them on the spice mixture before mentioning that warming as this is, the entry cave is a bit chilly. They lead him to his sleeping cave to get settled in, and thence to the hot spring. There's an opening to the outside in this cave, too, and they use it to go out and collect huge baskets of snow to dump into the carved pools to make them cool enough to soak in. Much as Charles dresses like a human, he throws his clothes aside like a true faun, purring and moaning shamelessly as the hot water loosens his muscles. Azazel chuckles and reclines with Janos in his arms, pouring his mate's cup into his own and trading sips. Erik just sighs and tips his head back over the edge.

"As you might imagine, this was an important factor in settling here."

"I'll bet." He eases over to sit beside Erik, lightly kicking his little hooves.

As is inevitable, they wind up talking about nymphs and dryads and other Kindred and their relative merits in bed. Listening to them, Charles gradually begins to look a bit incredulous. "Have any of you tried humans?"

Janos nods, and smiles slightly. "I like them, but they don't understand the wind. It's best to avoid hurting their feelings."

Charles laughs. "Well, let me know and I'll set you up with some NSA folks I know. They'd love to have you just congenially fuck off afterward. What about you, Azazel?"

"I find them lacking in endurance."

"Mm, perhaps. Erik?"

He squirms a little. "I'm not sure about the males, they're a little… bland. The females are enough like nymphs to be nice, but they're afraid of me."

"Ah, an unfair advantage of being a faun, I suppose."

"Do tell," Erik murmurs.

Charles laughs. "Well, one thing I have found is that it makes it easier for me to talk girls into anal. Once they see how I'm shaped of course."

"That's right," Janos murmurs dreamily, "humans don't taper."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles is clueless.

Really, in a satyr cave network, all conversations turn back to sex in the end. Charles has almost forgotten that in the city, but he finds he likes it. Most people are thinking about sex all the time anyway, satyrs are just honest about it. And really, it's heartbreaking to hear about Erik's various missed encounters. Well, when it's not funny, like the story of being chased with a broom by an irate abbess.

"How was I to know?" He says with a philosophical shrug, gnawing the leg of a roasted rabbit. "Imagine that you're a young-- relatively, anyway-- satyr who has spent his whole life fighting and running through the mountains and being too busy with war to get more than a few tumbles with Kindred or to even see humans more than a few times. It's a perfect spring night and your blood is hotter than it has ever been, and then the wind brings you the scent of women in heat. At least twenty of them, young and healthy and sweet. Why on earth would you think that the entire point of them was not to fuck?"

"Humans." Alex shakes his head. "I dunno how me and Bozo here are gonna do in all that glass and iron."

"You're coming to the city?" Charles asks as Hank squawks in protest at his hated nickname, everyone ignoring him as always.

"Yeah. He's gonna be studying and I'm supposed to be getting rehabilitated or some shit."

It turns out that Hank is in the same field, and he and Charles talk shop for the rest of the evening. To dine the satyr way is to put everything edible on a low table and lounge around it, lazily munching a piece at a time with plenty of wine and conversation. Hank and Alex are younger, and relatively new additions to the herd. Hank was raised by humans, but has been up in the mountains for a while, sent there by loving parents for his own good. He had apparently been trying to learn how to do the descenting procedure himself as well as the de-horning one, and his parents (being the kind of human foster parents who actually love their Kindred child) had been horrified to realize how disconnected their son felt from his biological heritage. Charles shakes his head when Hank shyly admits this.

"You poor, silly thing. You're a very handsome satyr!" Charles isn't just saying that to make the kid feel better, either. He's a little taller than Erik (tall even for a satyr) and has big blue eyes and a pretty face and adorable glasses. The scent he would have stripped from himself is rich and musky and clean, and the horns he had been plotting to saw off are a lovely rare type, not a single color but rings of every mix of gold and brown. He blushes, and thanks Charles for the bare truth, drawing his smoke blue legs neatly under him. He couldn't be more different from Alex, waving a leg bone as he recounts some antics of his little brother's. Alex is shorter and broader, with bones braided into his golden hair and white fur on his legs. His brother is apparently living with Hank's parents, their own having died when the pegasus giving them a lift had run into one of those unexpected storms.

"Erik told me the same, and well... I can handle what I am now. People don't understand how hard it is when you're raised by humans."

They spend the break acting not a bit like humans. There's running, leaping, dancing, hunting, stargazing, and a visit to Emma the ice nymph, to tease her about her little meadow nymph protege and wander through her gallery of sculptures. They're beautifully made and backlit in different colors, making them wonderful, shimmering and unreal. Wandering through the silent, glimmering grove with every sculpture glowing in the night, Erik had told Charles a little more about the war, and about Emma's role in it as a fearsome tactician and one of the only Kindred pretty enough to get information out of Shaw. He looks so distant and admiring when he tells of it that Charles asks him if he's pining. Erik just laughs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles watches porn.

Charles is sorry to go, but knows he has to get back to his work. Since Erik doesn't have an office to organize, he bids Charles a fond farewell and doesn't reappear in the city for another two days. When he does, it's with Hank and Alex in tow. Charles is in his office when he hears a soft knock and yells, "Come in!" with his head still buried in a filing cabinet.

"Charles?"

"Erik!" He bounces up and beams, cursing his tail for wagging. Erik grins back at him, looking more wild and gorgeous than ever. He's wearing the loincloth Azazel gave him for Winter Solstice, and Hank and Alex are just behind him, their scents wafting through his as they wave their greetings. Charles grins. "So, did Erik bring you to meet fifty percent of the Kindred faculty?"

"I thought they should at least know where you were."

Alex hasn't bothered with anything, hair still full of bones and still wearing his scruffy buckskin loincloth with the burn holes on the edges, but Hank is actually wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a blazer. Charles shudders to think of how itchy and confined his legs must feel, but it's his own decision. Charles shows them his books and answers questions about the university until half-past five, when he gives up and takes them to dinner. He's as organized as he's going to get, anyway, and every satyr newly out of the mountains is owed an introduction to sushi. The pretty pieces and the rawness of the flesh appeal to Hank and Alex as Charles had known they would, but it's Erik he can't stop watching. He disdains the sticks, of course, and plucks up each morsel between thumb and forefinger to study it for a moment and to breathe in the sweet, faint odor of raw fish before setting it between his pointed teeth, pointed tongue running out to lick his lips after each slow bite. Alex is full of questions about the various human cultures and cuisines Charles has encountered, and Hank can answer some, taking quiet but clear joy in finally one-upping his obnoxious friend.

"They're like brothers," Erik says at his next chess game with Charles, "and not in the sentimental way humans always say it."

Charles laughs, watching. Spring is coming slowly but surely, and he can feel it in the way his eyes are drawn to Erik's hands. Sex any time of year is good, but spring is the rut for both species and it's getting easier and easier to blush. Raven is getting restless too, and Charles starts laying in the non-perishable supplies they'll both want. Lube and condoms for any encounters they do have, good brandy to mourn the ones they don't, and some opium for soothing purposes. The Kindred don't become addicted to it like humans do, and on a boring night in late February Charles breaks some of it out in advance. It's not that he doesn't get much time with the house to himself, Raven is always out and about. But he's usually responsible and uses it to work. Not tonight, however. Tonight is Porn Night. Every one of the goat Kindred needs some kind of outlet, and going out seems exhausting right now. So Charles sets up his personal laptop for optimum jerking off and browsing at the same time, and sips some wine. He throws on some nymph on nymph action that he's had on hand for ages, just a ten minute clip of a dew nymph and a flower nymph fucking like it would be their last chance. It's hot, but he's watched it enough that the dew nymph's desperate cries are just pleasant background, and searches for fresher fare.

Later, he supposes it was inevitable that he end up clicking through satyr/faun content. He's only been with a satyr once, since so many of them in the city are bad news. It doesn't help that exiles and failures tend to end up here, the nasty smash-and-grab sort that might well eat you when they finish with you. But Erik isn't like that, and Charles finds himself thinking of his friend as he watches the satyr in this clip pretend to sleep under a tree. He's got the same lean build as Erik, but his skin is so dark it reflects the blue of the sky. The tight curls on his head match the snow-white fleece on his legs, and his hooves and horns are both the pale gold stylists call 'champagne.' His cock is massive, of course, and rests flopped on the crease of one thigh, about half hard. Charles can't help licking his lips, and isn't sure if it's because it's been too long or because spring is too close. The camera lets him get a good look, then pulls up to ogle the faun as he lightly trips into frame. He's small and very slender, with deep brown skin and long ringlets about a shade lighter. His horns and hooves are bronze, with that subtle shine that pretty much no one has naturally and is probably well-applied Sylvan Shimmer. His face is as delicate as a nymph's, and there's a subtle curve to his slim hips. He's wearing a loincloth so brief that it essentially doesn't count, and strips it off in delight when he sees the satyr. He tiptoes closer, big dark eyes wide and curious. 

He wakes the satyr slowly, with teasing touches, and dances for him when he's fully awake, golden eyes locked on the faun. Both standing, Charles can appreciate their size difference, which looks like an even three feet. The faun of course leads the satyr a chase, but only a little one. Just enough to get the blood flowing before the satyr picks him up and slicks him, grinning with sharp teeth before easing the tiny faun onto his cock. The faun kicks and struggles, but to take more rather than get away, bleating and wailing as the satyr sets up a deep, hard rhythm, holding him up like he weighs nothing. The faun clutches at the satyr's hair, his own head tipped back in helpless ecstasy. He comes when the Satyr starts rubbing the base of one horn, and Charles does too, groaning and shuddering. Catching his breath, he glances at his calendar and wonders if he shouldn't just stay away from Erik until August, when it gets too hot even for satyrs to fuck.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cockblocked by responsibility.

Erik is not sure how much of this he can take. Spring is coming on and Charles smells good enough to make his head spin. No matter what any goat Kindred does short of de-scenting, the scent is always stronger in spring. Another symptom is irritation, particularly if the most exquisite faun one has ever seen is pretending not to notice one's advances. He lurks in the back of his classes, just waiting for someone to say he stinks so he can headbutt them. He has to suppose that the nearly visible waves of frustration he's emitting in all directions have something to do with it. Worse of all, he has to share space with two young satyrs barely in their third rut. He had made the mistake of taking Hank with him when he went to play chess with Charles, and now the boy is mooning helplessly over Raven. It takes every satyr differently, and Hank is sighing and swooning and writing sonnets all over the place. Alex has been making regular visits to the Kindred Rehabilitation Office. He legally has to, after a difficult patch where he turned to banditry. Luckily for him, he hadn't raped or killed anyone, so Erik had taken him in instead of killing him to keep the mountain passes safe. As the afternoons grow warmer, he nurses some regret for this decision. There's someone Alex isn't fucking, because he's stronger-smelling and worse-tempered than Erik, but he refuses to admit to it or talk about it. Irritating as Hank is, at least he's up front with it.

At least today is a day to visit Charles, and with no hangers-on this time. Alex is down at the center again, and Hank is buried in his lab because even in rut he can still think about science. Erik bathes for the second time today, and heads over to Charles's. Humans still recoil from him, and parents hold their early adolescent daughters insultingly close. Not that he's completely immune, he's a satyr and can smell any breeding female, including those whose menarche was just this year, but he has never hunted anyone who didn't want to be chased. These little maid-children are frightened of him, of his height and his stink and the brooding feeling that comes with unsatisfied rut. They watch him curiously, but they're still afraid, and Erik just holds still and looks straight ahead until he can escape at his stop, bounding from the bus's top step to the sidewalk and clopping away, tail flicking uncontrollably.

Charles is waiting for him, wine open to breathe and board already set. He's flushed, and lovelier than ever in his own little faun rut, sweet scent wafting to Erik and making him wonder if he shouldn't leave after all. "Erik!" It comes out happier than he means it to, and Erik smirks because he can actually see Charles dialing it back. Very well. If he wants to pretend to be human, they can pretend to be human. Erik sits down across from him and they begin their game. Neither is playing in top form, and an incidental brush of their fingers as Charles hands Erik his glass makes them both gasp. They move closer and closer over the board, and Erik knows they would have kissed, but Charles's thrice-cursed, misbegotten fucking phone rings, and he has to answer it.

"Yes?" He listens for a moment, and sounds much less breathless when he speaks again. "He's here. Raven, what on earth has—oh. Oh, dear. Yes, of course I'll tell him. Just wait there, it should be forty-five minutes at the outside."

"Charles?" He asks as Charles puts the abomination away.

"We have to go fetch your junior herdmates, Erik."

"…Both of them?"

"Yes." Charles is getting up and putting the wine away. "Both of them are panicking, Hank stationary and Alex mobile."

Erik groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They would do it at the same time."

Charles smiles, and pats his shoulder. "Soonest dealt with, soonest over."

Panic fear is another of the hazards of rut. It's most common in the young, who work themselves into paroxysms of fear at the thought of declaring their intentions to the one they want. It comes in two flavors, and of course Hank and Alex are demonstrating both. Hank is too afraid to move, and Alex is too afraid to stop. He's the worrisome one, since he'll run himself sick if they can't get there in time to calm him down. Both are at the Center, of course, because it's the only safe place in the city for Kindred problems.


	7. Chapter 7

Alex is running in circles and he can't stop, gasping and wheezing, every muscle aching. It doesn't help that he's inside, that he's not getting anywhere. The room is round, which is at least better than square, but he still can't stop. He can smell his own rut and fear, and then suddenly another satyr. He's so deranged he keeps running, but Erik catches him by the arm , reels him in and holds him tight. His scent is familiar, and as much shit as he gives Erik, he knows his herd's lead satyr will keep him safe. He bleats helplessly, and just stands there and shakes for a long time, clinging to Erik.

"It's all right, kid. I've got you. Breathe with me, now. Slow and deep." They're chest to chest, so it's easy for Alex to match his rhythm. Of course they both get hard, but that's just part of being a satyr, especially in spring. "There, now," Erik murmurs, "it's okay. Tell me what's wrong." Alex whimpers and squirms. "Tell me."

"He'solderandsmarterandreallyniceandI'mmeand---"

"Breathe."

He bleats again, and catches his breath. "I've never focused like this. He's the only one I want and I know he can't want me and—" He covers his mouth to keep back more goat noises, and Erik sighs.

"Alex, you are going to control yourself, and we are going to speak with this boy. Well, I'll speak, you'll probably go non-verbal. But that's okay." He sits Alex down and sets up a dish of opium, burning like incense. "Take deep, calming breaths, and wait here." Alex nods, and Erik steps out of the corral. "So," he says, facing down anxious counselors and workshop members and trainees, "Which of you is Alex sweet on? Don't even lie and say you don't know."

"That's you, Darwin."

"Come on, man!"

Gradually the crowd shoves what appears to be a tall, lean human with brown skin and tightly curled hair forward. He grins shyly, and smells like no human Erik has ever met. "…What are you?"

"An elemental changeling. Is… is it true about Alex?"

"Yes. Will you mate with him?"

His hair turns into flickering flames as he blushes. "Uh... Y-yeah. Yeah, I will."

Whoops and catcalls go up before the counselors force everyone to clear out, and go get the mating imperative room ready. It can be changed around for various species, and is very cave like by the time Erik leads a calmer Alex up to the door. He knocks, and Alex bleats loudly when Darwin calls for them to open it, clapping his hands over his mouth in embarrassment. Erik chuckles and pushes him inside, shutting the door behind him. He can hear Alex babbling, and then growling, and shocked but pleased sounding cries from Darwin. Mission accomplished, he goes to find Hank before he can get jealous.

Hank is in a disused classroom, curled into a tight ball and somehow fitting under the human-sized desk. Erik sighs, and crouches beside it. "Hank."

"Y-yes?" He squeaks, shaking.

"Who is it you want?"

"I can't say," he whimpers, and spends the next five minutes or so in an ecstasy of terror. Erik grumbles and collects his burning opium, setting it out for Hank, getting him to calm down and breathe.

"Yes, you can say. You'll tell me who it is, and I'll ask for you."

It takes another twenty minutes of coaxing, but at last he admits the obvious, that it's Raven, and Erik nods, going outside to find Charles waiting for him.

"Is it okay with you if Hank fucks your sister?"

"As long as it's okay with her."

Erik nods, and borrows Charles's phone to call her, jumping when she comes around the corner. "Is Hank okay?"

Erik hangs up. "Yes."

"I had no idea what to do! I just walked in and he jumped under the desk."

"He's young and inexperienced. Will you mate with him?"

She grins from ear to ear. "Oh, so that's how it is." She slips past them and vanishes into the classroom. A moment later Hank lets out a loud, wild bleat and then groans helplessly. Charles and Erik make themselves scarce, and pass the message along that room 104 is occupied.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally.

"Well, now that that's out of the way..." Charles says, leading the way back into his house. Erik makes a vague noise of agreement, trying not to stare at Charles's flicking tail. "I suppose we can get back to our game." He turns to Erik with a small smile, and that's it. Erik can officially take no more. He snorts, stamps, and lets out a bellowing bleat that makes Charles's eyes go very wide and very dark, his ears flattened to the sides of his head with nervousness, but his scent is still inviting so there's nothing to stop Erik from pouncing. It's a tight fit, pouncing a faun in a hallway instead of a forest, but it still works. There's no space for a chase and Erik doesn't want one, this whole fucking thing has been a chase, a slow, clothed, human style chase, and he can't take a second more. His hooves clack on the floor as he snatches Charles up, holding him close and pinning him to the wall, staring into those eyes, just a rim of purest blue around the black lakes of his pupils.

"E-erik?" Charles squeaks, squirming without really struggling.

"Send me away," Erik growls, "send me away if you're going to, Charles." He buries his face in Charles's neck, dragging in his scent in huge, greedy gasps. He wishes he could stop shaking, but of course that's hopeless. Charles just whimpers and lets out a shy little bleat, blushing.

"Erik, I…"

"Please," Erik gasps, and ruts against him without meaning to, grinding their hard cocks together for what feels like an eternity before he can stop, whimpering helplessly into the side of the Charles's neck, "please, just tell me."

"Yes," Charles breathes, "yes, Erik, please…" Erik bites the crook of Charles's neck, letting out another low, rough cry and bucking against him even harder. He wants to taste him, wants to pin him down and mount him and fuck him and breed him and not let him up for days, not until their mingled scents are one thing. He tells him as much, with touch and scent and wordless noises and his tongue along Charles's ear. "M-my room, Erik. Please."

He can't use words anymore, but he does still understand them, and carries Charles to his room. He would prefer a more traditional venue, but that's nothing to think about right now. Now there is only Charles, making soft little faun noises and letting Erik pin him down and loom over him. He tries not to tear the stupid human clothes too much as he takes them off and flings them aside so he can lower his head and bury his face in Charles's fur, nuzzling his cock, moaning at each smear of precome on his face. Charles bleats and begs, tugging at Erik's hair.

"Please Erik, please fuck me, please, we can do the rest later I swear just—" He cuts himself off with a long, bleating wail as Erik slides up and pushes the first few inches into Charles, the tip narrow and slick enough. Charles cries out and bucks on it, tightening and breathlessly pointing to the nightstand, where Erik pulls the drawer all the way out and drops the whole thing except for the lube. Charles doesn't even complain, just spreads wider and lets out another wild cry as Erik's slick length pushes into him, opening him up as it thickens toward the base. He grunts and rocks in sharply, pleased to find that Charles can't use words anymore either. He just clings and kicks and bites, utterly gone. He's in a completely primal state that matches Erik's, and he can't care about the noise or the bedding or anything. He buries his face under Erik's arm to drown in his scent, their mingled musk filling the room. The first time he pisses all over them both he almost remembers to be embarrassed, but then Erik is biting him again and he comes instead.

True to form, they don't leave Charles's bed for hours, and when they do, it's Erik carrying his exhausted little mate to the bathroom to clean him. He frets and protests at getting rid of the scent, but Erik just shakes his head. "We'll save the sheet"

"Okay." He sounds dazed, and is sweetly pliant, tucked into Erik's lap. Erik chuckles, licking the base of one horn. Charles bucks and whines, shaking.

"Oh…" he whimpers, "oh don't, I can't—" He moans as Erik lightly sucks on the skin, tasting the purest part of Charles's scent, the oils emitted near the horns.

"Yes, you can," he murmurs, pinching Charles's nipples and making him groan. He's right of course, and Charles does, bleating like a lost kid and coming one last time, shaking. Erik covers him in kisses, and carries him down to the guest bedroom, leaving him complaining there until things are cleaned up enough for him to crawl in beside his little faun and wrap around him. Charles tucks in so neatly, back against his chest and head under his chin. Erik sighs, tail flicking in contentment.


End file.
